


fall in love (by the end of this song)

by pallasjoanna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, just 2k words about iwaizumi being romantically thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallasjoanna/pseuds/pallasjoanna
Summary: It’s movie night, and Oikawa throws his popcorn at the screen when the main character dies via a car accident. A truck, really. “I can’t believe I sat through two hours of their twenty-year angst for that,” he says, hiccupping through a sob. Hajime’s still a bit too shocked by the twist to cry, but he pulls Oikawa under his chin. Oikawa goes along willingly, his hair tickling Hajime’s nose, and an unbearable fondness wells up in his chest, like his heart has grown two sizes too big for his body.Oikawa looks up at him, mouth wobbly and eyes red, and Hajime thinks, oh.How Iwaizumi Hajime quietly deals with a crush on Oikawa Tooru, in five moments.





	fall in love (by the end of this song)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts since may 2017 with about 1k words then, soooo *flings it into the void*

 

**i.**

It is not a sudden realization.

One. On a chill Friday evening, Hanamaki posts a link to a quiz in the Seijoh volleyball group chat that’s titled ‘Does Your Crush Like You Back?’ and tags Yahaba in it, leading to his phone vibrating every ten seconds before he turns it to silent mode.

He clicks on it out of curiosity, just the once.

Two. Oikawa is a force of nature, and it shows in all his… Oikawa-ness, but even moreso in volleyball. During his water break, Hajime sits on the sidelines, watching as Oikawa jumps and serves, looking for anything that might signal that his right knee is less than alright. Sometimes, Hajime’s eyes stray to the way his muscles bunch under the shorts.

Matsukawa catches him staring. What unnerves him is that there is a reason to feel caught in the first place.

Three. It’s movie night, and Oikawa throws his popcorn at the screen when the main character dies via a car accident. A truck, really. “I can’t believe I sat through two hours of their twenty-year angst for that,” he says, hiccupping through a sob. Hajime’s still a bit too shocked by the twist to cry, but he pulls Oikawa under his chin. Oikawa goes along willingly, his hair tickling Hajime’s nose, and an unbearable fondness wells up in his chest, like his heart has grown two sizes too big for his body.

Oikawa looks up at him, mouth wobbly and eyes red, and Hajime thinks, _oh_.

 

* * *

 

 

**ii.**

(He’s heard about the new kid from his mother, but he doesn’t meet him until he finds Tooru bawling his eyes out, hopelessly tangled in the bushes by where Hajime goes bug-hunting. The moment he frees him, Tooru latches on to Hajime like a snotty baby monkey and demands for Hajime to take him home.

“You’re annoying,” Hajime tells him.

Tooru’s mouth starts to wobble again and his sniffing grows louder. Hajime figures that maybe, he should really keep his mouth shut next time. He grips Tooru’s hand in apology, snot and dirt and all, and begins the walk back to the neighborhood.)

And because the universe hates him, there is one point when his thoughts are snatched away from his geometry homework, when he looks at his best friend slumped on the other side of the table, asleep and drooling onto his book, that he wonders, is he in love with Oikawa?

He twirls his pen through his fingers. It drops back onto the table. He hates that he can’t even properly deny that statement.

What does he even know about being in love anyway? His ‘dating life’ has ranged from getting clammy hands from a minute of interaction with an intimidatingly pretty third year to nudges, stolen glances, and six months of vaguely flirty chatting with a former classmate that never went anywhere. He has nothing to compare this thing he has for Oikawa.

And yet, if he thinks about it—if he thinks about all the years of friendship he has had with a snotty crybaby who’s now an ever-growing fixture in his life with a capacity for being both brilliant and terrible and is still sometimes, a snotty crybaby—it feels like a reasonable conclusion. He can’t bring up anything like a two-column proof for it, but it’s there. It could be there.

He shifts closer to Oikawa’s side – he really has the ugliest sleeping face when he’s this tired – and thinks about it a little bit more.

 

* * *

 

**iii.**

Oikawa has a girlfriend.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Oikawa says at lunch after the rumor mill has churned out at least two different versions of the event already. They’re at Hajime’s classroom this time, instead of with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, for a little impromptu volleyball-related meeting, but practice schedules turned to discussing break days, and on Sunday morning, Oikawa is decidedly not staying in.

“She confessed and you said ‘yes’?”

“Technically, yes?” Oikawa runs fingers through his bangs, combing them to the side. “But still, no?”

Hajime can feel a vein throbbing in his head. “You’re either dating or not dating. Don’t go and break this poor girl’s heart, Shittykawa.” He chews on his tofu a bit more slowly, fighting down the urge to snap. Ugh, why does he even care? Aside from his stupid feelings or whatever.

“Okay, hear me out—“

Oikawa has a date on a Sunday morning with a girl from a neighboring school. One date. “One date does not mean dating, Iwa-chan, I see you still have a lot to learn from Oikawa-sama,” he’d said, but still. It’s Hajime who helps him pick out a movie, debating pros and cons of action and romcoms with Oikawa and looking up a decent affordable place to eat after. It’s Hajime whom Oikawa texts awake at the asscrack of a Sunday morning to help him pick out an outfit in his bedroom, and he vetoes the parade of alien prints.

“But Iwa-chan, how else will I show off my sparkling personality?” he says, but he brings out Hajime’s earlier suggestion anyways: a navy blue button-up and gray skinny jeans. Hajime wants to get up and drag his best friend on a date with him instead. Oikawa can even wear his nerdiest sweater, and Hajime will wear a t-shirt with the biggest Godzilla print on it, and they will go to the arcade to finally resolve the true winner of Dance Dance Revolution. While looking longingly into each other’s eyes or whatever made a date.

But Hajime isn’t the person who had the balls to confess to Oikawa last week.

Hajime flings an arm over his eyes. Oikawa’s pillows smell a bit like sweat, more like his minty shampoo. He wants to snuggle into it and never wake up.

He’s being a dumbass about this. A jealous dumbass. He’s hit with the realization that maybe, that simmering irritation in his gut all those times Oikawa and dating have been brought up in the same context since middle school is just that—him being a jealous dumbass.

It’s too early in the morning for meaningful insight.

So, he rolls over onto his side away from Oikawa, because Oikawa being half-naked has started being a bit weird ever since Hajime had a Realization, and pulls one of Oikawa’s body pillows close. He feels Oikawa ruffle his hair before he falls asleep, and the next time he wakes up, it’s to Auntie calling him downstairs for lunch.

Oikawa shows up in Hajime’s house at three in the afternoon, just as Hajime finishes taking a bath, and hands him a cold cup of something with a smiley-faced lemon on the cover.

“So, it wasn’t a date,” Oikawa says without further preamble, pulling Hajime into the space beside him despite being barely dry and in boxers, and Oikawa proceeds to flop down onto his lap. “She said she’s moving next year, and she just wanted to try going out with me once, you know? No strings attached.”

Hajime thinks he still might be half asleep because Oikawa actually looks pleased. “Okay? Sucks for you, I guess?”

Oikawa frowns. “Iwa-chan. Are you even trying to keep up? Do you still need to sleep? I only agreed to go out on a date with her because of that.”

“A pity date? How is that any better?” Hajime snorts. He doesn’t dare hope.

Oikawa throws up his hands in _why do I even bother_ , nearly smacking Hajime on the nose, and pointedly, does not explain anything else. “Nevermind. Anyway, try that,” Oikawa says, handing him a packaged straw. “There’s this new shop that opened on the way home. And it has rock salt and cheese drinks that taste really good, so I bought an extra one for you…”

 

* * *

 

 

(Spring High comes, and Spring High goes.

Hajime forgets sometimes that he was as much a snotty crybaby as Oikawa was at six. After the team slowly leave the lockers one by one, each of them barely holding it together, Hajime lets himself cry in earnest, soaking the front of Oikawa’s jersey in a hug that neither of them asks for out loud but is still given.

It’s terrible. Hajime exhausts himself thinking about anything else he could have done, and Oikawa exhausts himself thinking about anything else he could have done while trying to cry as silently as he can.

It feels like an ending to high school, flat and sad.

They take the long way home, walking in silence until the street lamps start turning on one by one.

Hajime takes a deep breath. Words take courage, he learns. He won’t let this be the end.

And he knows, neither will Oikawa.)

 

* * *

 

 

**iv.**

“Don’t step on my feet,” Hajime teases, relishing in Tooru’s pout when Hajime puts his hand on his waist and his other clasping Tooru’s own. Much to their relief, the floor is filling up with more people, either dancing on their own or with the happily wedded couple after they’ve pinned crisp paper bills to the bride’s gown or the groom’s tux. Oikawa Megumi is incandescent with happiness, twirling around with her new husband and Takeru.

“Iwa-chan, that was one time,” Oikawa retorts, still grinning all the way. Hajime suspects it’s because of his sister as much as it is because of the satisfaction of delivering an overdue shovel talk to the groom in his speech.

“My feet disagree.” It was two weeks of summer ballroom classes, at least a year before Oikawa Megumi had burst in on an Iwaizumi-Oikawa household lunch and announced she was getting married. Tooru was still in the middle of a growth spurt and had the grace of a newborn foal. Hajime likes to hold it above his head every now and then.

Granted, that was ballroom dancing. Here, Hajime’s not completely sure who’s leading whom. They tried a waltz at the start, the first thing to come to mind, but then Versace on the Floor doesn’t really lend itself well to it, so now they’re doing this awkward sway together.

So is every other couple on the floor. Hajime is well aware of this fact.

Tooru’s hand is heavy and warm on his shoulder. They may be a bit less than arm’s length from each other, like it’s gravity. He can feel Tooru’s exhale on his cheek. Hajime is also very aware of those facts.

And it’s a _wedding_. Hajime is only seventeen years old and kind of in love. Tooru looks ethereal, eyes wide and looking straight at Hajime, too, under the purple-tinted lights, and Hajime wants to pull him down and kiss him. He wonders what it would be like – not for the first, second, or last time—to kiss Oikawa Tooru. A smack or something longer, tucked in a hidden corner or out here on the dance floor, and he _wants_.

There is a moment, when Tooru slides his hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck, breaths warm and fluttery on his skin.

“Hajime,” he says, close and closer. Hajime’s hand tightens on his waist, anticipation a crawling heat along his back—

And nothing happens.

Nothing happens. The music slowly fades into the ambient chatter of the party, the chirping voice of the host, the spell halted in its tracks. The guests cheer and hoot as the host announces the garter-pulling, the floor slowly starting to clear.

But they don’t let go for a little bit more.

 

* * *

 

 

**v.**

In the middle of signing old notebooks and t-shirts, and exchanging contact numbers and wallet-sized graduation photos, Hajime realizes that Oikawa is nowhere to be seen in the post-graduation crowd. A few girls ask him, and he finds others even waiting by his classroom, but there’s a much more obvious place where Hajime can find him.

Tooru has taken off his blazer, folded it neatly on a nearby bench. He doesn’t look at Hajime when he enters the gym, too engrossed in tossing the ball like they were still in grade school, bouncing it against his forearms and keeping it in the air for as long as he can.

Eventually, it smacks his arm at an angle and falls to the side. Tooru turns to the doorway.

“How many did you get?” Hajime asks.

“Ninety-seven.” Tooru stretches his arms above his head. “Since you’re here already… how about a little game?”

He raises an eyebrow. “In these slacks?”

“Just receive three out of five of my serves and you get a prize,” Tooru says, nonchalant as can be, but clearly calculating. “Hooray. Deal?”

“We still have lunch with the family after this,” Hajime mutters under his breath, but it’s only a split second of hesitance before he ducks under the net to begin a few light stretches. “Oikawa—“

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” Tooru winks. “Think of it as thanks for your loyal supply of milk bread to the ever grateful Oikawa-san.”

“We’re talking about a few years of debt, then?”

Tooru huffs, walking towards the back of the end line. “You’re very lucky I like you, or I wouldn’t even consider going easy on you.”

 _Like I’d ask you to_ , he’s about to say, shrugging off the warm fuzziness in his stomach through sheer force of will, but as soon as he gets settled, the ball immediately rockets past his face by several inches, landing with a loud smack on the floor.

Tooru has the audacity to look smug.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Ass.”

“All’s fair in love and war.” Tooru picks up another ball from the cart, eyes fixed on Hajime as he prepares to aim. “Four left, okay?”

“Whatever,” he replies, but he’s better prepared when Tooru serves again, receiving the ball into a soft arc upwards. Before he can even think about catching his breath, he sees Tooru preparing to jump into another.

And Hajime follows.

In the end, he gets exactly the three receives Tooru asks for, the last one sending him sprawling on the gym floor as his shoes lose their tenuous grip on the ground. The fall knocks him breathless for a moment.

Coach Irihata would be laughing in his face if this were enough to reduce him into a puddle of tired. He is, maybe—from the long droning speeches to this impromptu match because Tooru’s serves are tricky even when they’re both wearing already constricting uniforms and worn out school shoes. Hajime doesn’t get up from the floor just yet.

The diplomas, the ceremony, his and Tooru’s acceptance letters to different universities – the reality of it all has been eating away at him for months and months now in a slow burn. Now, in a brightly lit gym with scattered volleyballs and the both of them on opposite sides of the net, it feels like a bucket of cold water, even with the warmth of well-wishes and see you soon’s. He doesn’t expect things to stay the same.

It’s just that, for a moment, he wants them to. He wants to walk the familiar streets of Miyagi for a little bit more, wants more time to eat his family’s homemade food and memorize all the recipes. He wants the guarantee of seeing Hanamaki and Matsukawa and the rest of the volleyball team in an eight-hour block of time each day, wants Tooru always just a door over or at arm’s length or infinitely closer.

Maybe he gets it now, all this crying at graduation.

He stares unseeing at the ceiling long enough that the gym lights leave phosphenes when he closes his eyes. Tooru’s footsteps are slow and deliberate when he shuffles close to where Hajime is.

“You’re such an old man,” he says and crouches down. The light frames his hair in a halo that’s a hundred times more angelic than he really is. Hajime snorts at the thought.

“Just so we’re clear,” he starts, choosing to let that one slide, “if you’re going to drown yourself in work in college, I’m dropping by your dorm to kick your ass.”

Tooru laughs. “Your mom vibes are going strong, Iwa-chan. I think I’ll manage.”

“And you know I’ll always be your best friend, right?”

“Sky is blue, water is wet, Iwa-chan. Same goes to you.” Tooru’s voice drops to a more somber pitch. “What brought this on? We’re kind of going over our quota for heart-to-heart talks in a year.”

God, he’s in love with such an ass. Hajime flops his arms up and down to gesture at the general universe. “Because you say a lot of things, just not the important ones, sometimes.” He turns to look at Tooru. “So I wanted you to know, just in case it hasn’t gone through your thick skull yet. Teammate, best friend, or however—“ his voice may break a little—“you’ll always be an important person to me, okay?”

Tooru is silent for a long, stretched out moment. Then, he takes out something from his pocket, held in a closed fist.

He drops it into Hajime’s open palm, and Hajime can’t quite breathe.

“I had a speech to go and everything! But Iwa-chan had be the cool one, ugh,” Tooru says, exasperated. “You’re a very important person to me, Hajime, and I’ll be damned if I let us go to college without being honest about this, whatever your answer is.

“Also,” Tooru adds, “our uniforms aren’t gakuran, but you get the idea.”

Hajime clenches his fist so hard that Tooru’s button digs into his skin, the dull pain grounding the slowly tilting axis of the universe. Tooru’s face is the ugliest, most endearing shade of blotchy red, half-buried beneath crossed arms.

“Your second button?” Hajime asks, voice hoarse, just to be sure.

Tooru gives a tiny nod.

“What the hell,” Hajime says.

Just like that, Tooru’s composure is broken entirely. His whole face scrunches up as if he's about to yell or cry or both. “Well, excuse you, Iwaizumi Hajime—“

So Hajime holds him by the back of the neck, and pulls him closer.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> -title comes from the song 'odds are' by the barenaked ladies, which is a really upbeat song compared to the somewhat somber tone here?? EDIT: upon rereading this, i realize i should have titled it after 'closer'  
> -bonus points for whoever can guess the movie reference at the beginning  
> -i may have been projecting on iwaizumi in this fic a bit (that 'doesn't know about being in love' rambling bit because even at 20, i have atrocious social skills and we're all dying in premed. and then i will be slowly dying even more in med proper.)  
> -i have no idea if i managed to convey oikawa's scheming in the third part, but if you got it, yay  
> -ever since reading 'the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle' by kittebasu, i've really liked the idea of oikawa having an older sister who's a single mom (and doesn't marry) but i needed a wedding.  
> -i remember doing the volleyball tossing thing in grade 3. i could barely get through ten. there's this girl who managed 120 something, i kid you not.
> 
> -as usual, you can find me @pallasjoannas on tumblr, but i'm in a bit of a hiatus right now since it's my graduating year.  
> \- comments and constructive criticism appreciated as usual! even though i kinda gave up halfway through this *shrug kaomoji*


End file.
